


A Quiet Time

by cloudsarefluffy



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games), Red Dead Redemption 2
Genre: Arthur Morgan is Cute, Cute, Drunk Arthur Morgan, Drunk flirting, Drunken Shenanigans, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, M/M, Multi, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill, Reader Insert, Some Humor, Sweet Arthur Morgan, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Tumblr Prompt, and this is jackass, gender neutral reader, hi my name is arthur morgan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-11-05 03:40:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17911322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudsarefluffy/pseuds/cloudsarefluffy
Summary: On Tumblr, anon asked:Okay but...drunk!Arthur...how sweet would he be?😍😍😍Lol anon, let’s find out.———Frowning, your eyes move up to Arthur’s face, taking in his flushed skin and dilated eyes. At the way his mouth is lightly parted, his tongue coming to lick his lips absently as he sways gently with the night breeze.“You’re drunk.”“Am not,” Arthur hiccups, squinting for a moment before shaking his head and wincing at the movement, “M’just... havin’ a good time.”





	A Quiet Time

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick prompt fill I wanted to make while I work on some others, and of course, the new update for AACOW! 
> 
> Just some feel good fic involving Arthur being a dumbass in love. What else could ya want?
> 
> Enjoy!~

If there was one thing you preferred to be, it was sober.

You saw what the gang was like when drunk. Fools they were. Falling over themselves, making scenes, causing grief. A night spent drinking often lead to a morning spent in a jail cell before bail could be posted.

But drinking, it made Bill angrier. Micah, meaner. Dutch, wilder.

You saw how the men were when they drank especially.

And so when Sean is rescused and Dutch announces a celebration, the entire gang rejoices.

Except for you.

You’re really one of the only few members with enough sense about you to know not to pick up or turn to a bottle. More often than not, Hosea joins you at the perimeter of camp to witness the absolute chaos that ensues with the gang half tipsy or down into their second case of spirits.

And, it is no different come tonight.

“Think Bill is going to get a black eye this time?” Hosea asks you, leaning against the pole of his tent, “Or will someone finally bite the bullet and break his nose?”

He’s eyeing the way Bill stumbles around, his scowl as sour as ever as he curses.

“Here’s to hopin’ for the latter,” you huff, sharpening your knife against the stone you’d chosen for the task, “He’s been rather pissy, even without a drink.”

Shouting from the opposite side of the camp crackles into the air, but you lift your eyes nonchalantly, not surprised by the sight of Bill grabbing onto the new poor bastard. Kieran, was his name.

Kieran looks like a damn scolded dog, tail between his legs as Bill hisses out what you’re sure is a threat.

“That boy is a fool, thinkin’ he’d be welcomed easily. A former O’Driscoll, here in camp? Surprised he’s still alive.”

Starting back with your knife, you work the edge of the blade against the lip of the stone and shrug.

“Arthur said to keep him alive. Guess that was enough. Well, at least to spare him from death. Don’t think it’ll keep Bill from heatin’ up those clippers again.”

“Who’s got clippers?”

You jolt your head up, turning to where you see Arthur stopping a foot away. He’s a bit unsteady on his feet, and even in the dim lighting from the moon, you can see the glint off of the whiskey bottle in his hands.

Frowning, your eyes move up to Arthur’s face, taking in his flushed skin and dilated eyes. At the way his mouth is lightly parted, his tongue coming to lick his lips absently as he sways gently with the night breeze.

“You’re drunk.”

“Am not,” Arthur hiccups, squinting for a moment before shaking his head and wincing at the movement, “M’just... havin’ a good time.”

Looking to you with a smirk, Hosea chuckles, “That’s what you kids call it nowadays?”

The expression Arthur has is closer to an annoyed pout than anything else, and it reminds you of Jack whenever Abigail goes stern on him.

The outlaw stumbles forward, huffing before he about falls over trying to sit down at your side. You pause on sharpening your knife, your focus on the man who leans over to stare at what’s in your hands.

“You act like you’ve never seen someone sharpen a knife before,” you chide softly.

Arthur hums, eyes narrowing as he leans in closer, “D-Don’t think I’ve seen anyone do it like that before...”

“I’m not gettin’ critiqued by a man whose breath smells of nothin’ but whiskey,” rolling your eyes, you go back to sharpening the knife in your hands.

“I could show you—“

Turning abruptly, you shake your head with a grimace, “You? Handlin’ a knife? You’re lucky I let you handle that bottle.”

“And I’m off for the night,” Hosea chuckles, leaning off the tent post and tipping his blue hat to you both, “Y’all have a good one.”

“Night, Hosea.”

You watch the older man leave, but your attention is quickly stolen back by the drunkard beside you.

“Listen, I’ve been drinkin’ for a long time. I’m not an idiot.”

You snort, “Last time you drank, you ended up gettin’ arrested for tryna drown a man in a horse trough.”

Arthur waves a hand, brushing the incident off, “He just wasn’t as charmin’ as he thought. Lenny and I were just tryin’ to have a good night, get his mind off Micah!”

“You still have to get him from Strawberry, by the way.”

Arthur shakes his head, looking to Sean and where Karen pushes him away in disgust, the Irish man laughing and obviously well into his liquor for the night.

“I reckon S-Sean is enough for right now.”

When Sean falls over into one of the washing bins, water splashing all about and laughter erupting from that side of camp, you sigh.

“Yeah, let Micah have some time to think n’ rot for a minute.”

Arthur salutes to that, and he downs a quick chug of his whiskey.

He swallows it without issue, like the burn of it doesn’t even register anymore before he’s back to peeping at your knife.

“What’re you sharpenin’ that for, anyway?”

Flipping the blade around a bit, you shrug, “It was gettin’ dull. And I’m gonna need it if I’m goin’ huntin’ with Charles tomorrow.”

Arthur tilts his head, “You two headin’ out?”

“Yeah. Charles said this is the first time he’s been close to some bison in a while. He offered after I got him the moonshine he wanted.”

The outlaw scoffs, “Weren’t you just gettin’ onto me about drinkin’?”

“Charles has never been a problem when drunk. Don’t think I’ve ever seen him drunk, neither. Not like you sad lot.”

As if to prove your point, John stumbles by, barely upright and looking both queasy and blitzed at the same time.

When he catches sight of you and Arthur, he waves, a grin pulling at his lips before his face pales and sobers for a terrifying second, and he wretches off into the bushes.

Arthur looks rather disgusted, and you make a small noise as John finishes being sick, and falls over into the nearby foliage.

“Okay, but I ain’t him.”

“Sure you ain’t.”

Arthur stands, a bit wobbly but nowhere near as bad as John.

“Lemme prove it to ya,” he gets a strange look about him, a determination that you rarely see except for when Dutch gives him a stern talk and orders, “C-Come on, I know a place.”

You look back to the rest of the camp and take in how most of the other members are not better off than John.

Even Dutch is rather tipsy as he attempts to follow the music blaring from his tent. His drunkenness making Molly’s turns as they dance uneven and incomplete, the two of them smiling and truly laughing with one another.

It’s a rare thing that Dutch gets drunk, and even rarer still that you almost feel some envy with the way he and Molly look giddy and the happiest they’ve been in a long while in the moonlight. It’s the first time you haven’t seen them fighting in weeks.

“Well... What have I got to lose by givin’ you the chance?”

Arthur lights up immediately, offering that crooked grin of his as he motions for you to follow.

“Vamonous, partner!”

Shaking your head, you chuckle as you stand, pocketing your knife and heading after the outlaw.

He leads you to the horses, making a shushing noise and putting his finger to his lips as he points to your saddler next to his shire.

You mount up beside him, waiting as he does take a second to get saddled right. Thankfully, the big bastard underneath him is patient for once, and the beast of a horse allows Arthur to situate himself without any fraction of complaint.

“I see he’s gettin’ better with you,” you whisper as you two head out through the trails worn through the underbrush.

“He’s a good horse, if you get past the fact that he’s shit sometimes.”

Arthur’s brutal honesty has you laughing, to which you have to quiet yourself when the man shushes you once more.

“Sorry, sorry,” you say with mirth warming your voice, “Just— surprised you kept him is all. He ‘bout bucked you in Valentine.”

“Yeah, but I’m more s-stubborn than he’ll be.”

“Oh, that I know.”

Quickly, Arthur finishes his bottle of whiskey before tossing the glass bottle to the ground, and spurring his shire forward.

You quickly keep up, matching your colt to his speed as you come onto the main road. He leads you to what you think is going to be Valentine, but instead, he veers left at the fork, heading down to where the land slopes further downward.

“Arthur, where are we goin’—“

“If I tell ya, it’ll ruin the surprise!”

You huff, but play along nevertheless.

The drunk man leads you to the banks of the Dakota river, the sound of it trickling by causing a wide grin to stretch Arthur’s lips as he glances back to you.

“Ain’t much further,” he promises.

You ride for a minute further until Arthur comes to a complete stop, dropping off of his shire to hunch down to a crouch.

You squint, trying to make out what Arthur is stalking.

“What are you—“

“Shush, you’ll spook ‘em,” he hisses in a whisper towards you.

You shake your head, getting off of your Kentucky saddler and coming up beside the man.

In the faintness of the moonlight, you can see a few wild horses in the distance.

And with a sudden dawning realization, your stomach sinks as your eyes break to the drunken idiot slowly sneaking up on them.

“Arthur!” you hiss under your breath, “Leave those damn horses alone!”

“I told ya, I’m not an awful drunk,” he defends, looking back over his shoulder as he continues on his crouched journey, “John couldn’t even piss downward right now. And while he lies in them bushes feelin’ mighty p-pitiful, I’mma be tamin’ me a stallion!”

“You goddamn _idiot—“_

Arthur motions for you to quiet again as he gets only a few feet from the grazing herd in front of him, drawing too close for comfort. You fall silent, your lips drawing into a scowl, because despite your protest, the last thing you want is the man to get trampled as you rail at him for his inebriated idiocy.

Arthur has no worries though, feeling overtly confident as he makes a show of moving towards the herd.

He singles out a lone male, beautiful with its black and white coat. It’s a gorgeous standardbred, one that looks young and about as reckless as the man eyeing him through the stalks of grass and weeds.

The colt’s ears prick forward, sensing Arthur’s presence. But he is naive with his age, ignoring his instincts instead to graze further on the grass.

Arthur stops just a foot or so from the horse he’s pinned his focus on, and he looks nearly insane with the way he grins at you, even throwing a thumbs up when he notices the way your frozen rigid in suspense.

And, as soon as he pivots back around, he jumps him.

Despite being drunk, Arthur maneuvers himself with surprising grace and ease, not even once stumbling or losing the calculation of his movements as he quickly hops onto the back of the colt.

The poor horse rears, crying out and frightening the rest of the herd. It only causes further panic as the rest flee, their hooves thunderous as they gallop in opposite directions while the colt attempts to buck Arthur off of his back.

Arthur is grinning, enjoying himself as he moves with the protest the standardbred gives him. You’re a bit impressed with him as he holds on, surprised at how he’s a managed this feat despite being a beer away from misery with John.

But, like most good things, his success comes to an end.

The colt manages to do a bit of a twist as he kicks, working Arthur in an awkward way before rearing and causing the man to lose his grip as he’s yanked back by gravity.

Shouting, you run forward as Arthur falls to the ground with a heavy thud, and the colt gallops away.

The groans coming from Arthur are the first thing you hear as you run over, dropping down low and just about skidding onto your knees with your haste.

He’s a sad sight, looking rather pained, both in body and pride, and he looks to you sorrowfully.

“Guess you were right.”

“Well, are you _alright?”_

With a rough exhale, the man runs a hand over his face, “I’ll be sore in a lotta ways after this one, but I’ll live...”

You smile warmly, especially at the way that Arthur flushes in embarrassment.

Despite your initial prediction being spot on, you do feel some pity for the man. He doesn’t often make mistakes or a sight of himself as he did tonight, and he rarely does drink compared to everyone else in the camp.

He was just trying to let loose, something he rarely does. The pressure he’s been under, the overall stress in the gang. Horseshoe has been the first time the gang has felt comfortable and _happy_ for weeks, especially for Arthur.

You’re pretty sure tonight was the first night he’s truly smiled at you since you’ve gotten here.

And so, you strengthen your resolve.

Arthur is still hiding his face at first, but at the sound of shuffling and crinkling grass beside him, he peeks from under the calloused palm of his hand. He turns his head, scowling in confusion as he takes in the sight of you laying down in the grass beside him.

“What are you doin’?”

“The stars sure do look amazin’ tonight, don’t they?”

Blinking, Arthur glances towards the sky and the spatters of constellations spread throughout. His face pinches some as he looks at them.

“They’re alright, I guess.”

After a fond scoff, you say, “You tellin’ me you ain’t ever looked way up there and thought those ain’t the most beautiful things you ever did see?”

A soft frown pulls at his lips then, and he waits a second. He looks as though he’s warring with himself, until he either wins or loses the battle as he turns his head towards you.

“Sometimes,” he starts, low and soft, “I ain’t ever needed a sky to think that, ‘specially when all I need to see is right in front of me.”

Your heart races at that, and a flush pulls up on your cheeks. You dart your tongue across your dry lips, and you don’t miss the way Arthur’s eyes track the movement greedily before he catches himself.

“I, uh,” he runs his hands down his face, looking a bit mortified, “Sorry...”

“Arthur...”

The man beside you glances at you from the corner of his eye, as wary as he is self-conscious.

“I take it back,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, “I think I love it when you’re drunk.”

“I’m still a fool,” he says, a small smile pulling at his lips, “I just don’t need a drink to feel that way around you.”

You blush, and your eyes move to where Arthur brings his arm up. It’s cautious, a bit hesitant. But even with his uncertainty, you don’t discourage him for reaching out, nor does he stop himself.

The feel of his hand in your face is almost searing with warmth, and your breath catches. Fluttering your eyes closed, you feel him when he traces your cheekbone with the rough pad of his thumb— the touch nothing but gentle.

“Darlin’, I’ve been dyin’ to kiss you,” he whispers, his voice breathless and desperate.

Bracing his hand with your own, you meet his hungered gaze in kind.

“And I’m dyin’ from the wait.”

He grins, crooked and sweet as he leans forward. The outlaw isn’t rushed in his motions, and he comes up, slow and soft as he presses his lips against yours.

He holds them there, the plump flesh of his mouth working against your own as he slides his hand further back.

You grin into it, grabbing onto him wherever you can— holding onto him as you are this moment.

Arthur pulls back just enough for you both to catch your breath. But he lingers, obviously wanting for more as he eyes your lips messily without shame.

“I might ask you to drink more often,” you joke, running your fingers through the back of his hair.

“Sweetheart, I’m drunk enough off you already,” he chuckles.

“Well, I’ll be alright, as long as you keep kissin’ me like that.”

“Oh, now that is somethin’ you won’t ever worry for.”

And with a smile, he comes up over you, covering you and diving back in, as encompassing and profound as the array of stars above.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt me, ask me like google, or submit things to me here:  
> sunshinexlollipops.tumblr.com/ask


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